


Slaves to Sorrow

by devilinthedetails



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Cuddling, F/M, Hugging, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Memory, References to Domestic Violence, Sorrow, references to alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 06:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17782106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: Onua's love for Sarge is rooted in a shared sorrow.





	Slaves to Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Peculiar Pairings Bingo event at Goldenlake.

Slaves to Sorrow

Onua couldn’t explain how she and Sarge had progressed from friends to lovers. She just knew that somehow she had ended up in the warm hayloft of the Riders’ stables with the February snows howling against the walls and slated roof, her lips locked in a kiss with his. She just felt safe–the way she did when her fingers were tangled in Tahoi’s fur–curled against his chest. Like Tahoi, Sarge’s bark was worse than his bite, but she believed in her bones and her blood that he would protect her from any threat with his deep-throated growl.

“You have so many scars.” Sarge’s hands had slid beneath her shirt, drifting along her bare back. His skin was calloused but somehow the roughness was a soothing reminder to her that he had suffered too, a reassurance that he would understand the pain that had driven her from Sarain because he too had been forced to flee his native land.

“All courtesy of my drunkard husband.” Onua’s lips twisted at the bitter memory of a husband who had been nasty and violent as a rabid dog whenever the drink was in him, and the drink was always in him.

“I’m sorry.” Sarge kissed her clenching jawline as if to ease the tension from it with his tender attentions.

“It was an arranged marriage.” Onua put the icy hardness of ground that had yet to see a spring thaw into her tone. She had to convince him–convince herself–that she had never loved the man who had abused her with words and fists, the man her father had sold her to for a dozen ponies, a pretty bride price, everyone in the village had agreed.

“I’ll make you forget him.” Sarge hugged her more tightly against his chest.

“I could never forget him.” Something in the fierceness of the movement Sarge had no doubt intended to be comforting in its protectiveness made her remember how it had felt to be taken roughly–without a sliver of love, respect, or gentleness–by her husband. Tears strung her eyes even as she wiped them away angrily, ashamed of her vulnerability even all these years after her escape from her husband and Sarain. “I ran away from him and from Sarain, but I’ll never be free of him.”

Another man might have fed her a beautiful lie, a false assurance that she would one day be free of her husband and her own horrible memories she relived whenever she closed her eyes at night, but not her Sarge. He was too brave to flinch from even the most terrible truths and that was why Onua had unshakeable faith in him and his solid presence by her side.

“I understand.” Sarge’s eyes were dark with the understanding of what it meant to be forever a slave of a past you couldn’t escape even by fleeing the country that had once been your home. That shared sorrow–that inability to forget–bonded her to him, made her love him, more than any passionate kiss or heart-pounding embrace they had enjoyed together. They were tied together by grief rather than romantic hugs and kisses. Their love wasn’t sweet but forged in bitterness. She could only hope that meant it was strong enough to last until death parted them.


End file.
